Work Text:
Kirk stared at the box on his desk. He had been staring at it for an hour. In truth he had been staring at it for two days. When he wasn't staring at it, he was thinking about it. He ran his hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. He had told himself that he would open it tonight. He knew that he was prolonging something that needed to be done, keeping open the wounds.
"Wounds that will never heal," he murmured to himself, his eyes tracing the delicate gold etchings decorating the simple ebony box that sat before him, asking him, pleading with him to open the latch and look inside.
He stood up and turned to stare out the window, trying to lose himself in the stars that radiated just beyond his touch, outside his reach. Beautiful to him, alluring, fascinating . . . like the one who had given him that ebony box.
Jim shook his head and fought for breath, fought the anger that was always at the surface, struggled against the pain.
"Damn it," he whispered roughly, pacing away from the window, his eyes drawn again to the innocent looking box that taunted him from his desk, imploring now that he should open it and end his torture. Kirk turned away, pacing faster, looking for a way out, wishing he had never seen that unassuming, tormenting box.
"My God, Spock." Jim said under his breath. "Did you know? Did you know how this would affect me?"
He clasped his hands tightly at his sides, wanting to strike out. He turned back to the window and pressed his head hard against the glass.
"I always hated a cage," he murmured, bringing a fist against the pane. "But that is what you have left me with. A tiny, ebony cage. Trapped me better than any other adversary ever could have dreamed and I can't escape. I can't escape this box and...." Jim paused, turning to look at the desk, taking a step forward. He stopped and stood, looking down at what Spock had left for him. "And I can't escape you."
It startled him to hear the words escape from his lips. He breathed in deep, still fighting, still not wanting to admit why he was so angry, why he was hurting so much.
"Spock," he said, sinking into the chair beside him, his hand reaching out to touch the box, but stopping as if afraid the cool touch might burn him. Jim rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes tightly, not sure what he was doing or if it was helping. Not sure if he was losing his mind or taking back his sanity.
"Damn it, Spock. I don't know what is happening to me. Don't know what to do. I just know....I don't want this anymore. I don't want.....God, Spock....Why did you have to be so stupid? Why did you have to let yourself get killed? Why did you..." He reached out again, pressing his fingertips against the surface of the box, losing the battle against the tears and the rage. He wrapped his hands around the box and clutched it to his chest. "Why did you have to leave me?"
He no longer fought the tears that came as he finally said out loud everything he had kept inside for so long, everything he had been afraid to say.
"I don't want anything to do with this pain, this pain you caused me...the pain I've caused myself." Kirk stood and threw the ebony box against the wall, falling to the floor, pressing his face against his fists, angry, so angry. "So many wrong choices, so many lost chances. We took the easy roads, the safe roads and this is where they have led us. There is nothing here. Nothing but suffering, suppressed emotion. Too much kept inside, too much hidden even from myself. I can't do it anymore. I can't go thorough life and not live it. I can't hide anymore and I don't want to. I have loved you and I have lost you and there was nothing for us in between."
Jim looked up to where the box had landed and rushed over toward it, suddenly anxious to open it.
"I'm scared as Hell here, Spock," he whispered, smiling a little to himself as he imagined the Vulcan's quick-witted response. "But, I am facing it." Jim reached for the latch and paused, shaking his head. "No."
He eyed the intricate gold against the black clutched in his hand and stood, taking it to the desk. He put it back in its place and sat in this chair, his hand against his chin in contemplation.
"I can't open it," he whispered, a gentle smile touching his lips. "That is what you want me to do. To let you go. To tell you goodbye." He stood and felt the smile broaden as he turned to the stars in the void that shone desperately, wildly in the dark blue, black. "I won't say goodbye."